


can i ever forgive me?

by localswordlesbian



Series: sweet tooth for you [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Gay Relationship, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, HOT MARTIN RIGHTS, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, also deals with his past trauma, eboy martin, martin dyes jon's hair, sorry rin this ended up angstier than i expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: After dyeing his hair, Martin is nervous about bringing attention to it. To make him feel better, Jon suggests they dye his grey hairs pink to match.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: sweet tooth for you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120133
Comments: 7
Kudos: 147





	can i ever forgive me?

“You know, they’re not going to mind.”

Martin sighed as he glanced over to Jon, who was lying on his side on the bed with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, a book sitting open on the bed next to him. “Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just not ready to draw attention to it?”

“You could always postpone. Tell them you won’t be able to stream this week – that you’re just not feeling up to it.”

Martin considered this. “I could,” he agreed. “But I’m not sure if I want to. I think if I put it off I’ll just be anxious about it for longer.”

Jon nodded. “I understand.” He seemed to contemplate solutions. “I’m sure if you ask them not to mention it, most will be courteous enough to listen.”

Martin knew this, of course. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I guess I’m just worried? It’s a change, and people are bound to say something.”

“They’re watching you stream Stardew Valley for two hours every week while you talk about how much you miss the cows in Scotland, how vicious could they possibly be?”

Martin snorted a laugh and smacked Jon on the head with his phone. Jon ducked, a mischievous grin on his face. “I’m serious!”

Jon laughed, and Martin felt his heart expanding in his chest at the rush of affection that sound elicited from him. “Alright, alright. Well, what if you weren’t the only one who’d changed their appearance?”

Martin tilted his head to the side. “How do you mean?”

Jon twirled a strand of his own long hair around his index finger. Martin had always loved Jon’s hair – the way it fell in gentle waves down his back, the black strands streaked through with premature greys. The way it parted around Martin’s fingers as he braided it, Jon’s head in his lap and his hair soft against Martin’s hands. The stripes of grey were nothing short of stark, though Martin always thought it added to it, made Jon look even more beautiful – not that he was biased or anything.

“Well, this grey isn’t doing me any favours aside from making me look decades older than I really am,” Jon explained wryly at Martin’s confused tilt of the head. “Perhaps we could try turning them into cotton candy.” He said the last part with a mischievous grin on his face, and Martin narrowed his eyes at him, which caused Jon to let out a chuckle. “What do you say?”

“You want me to dye your hair?” Jon nodded. “Well, yeah, if that’s what you want.”

Jon smiled, closing his book and sitting up before pressing a chaste kiss to Martin’s lips and swinging his legs over Martin’s and off the bed. “Come on, let’s do this.”

Martin chuckled as he stood. “Someone’s eager,” he teased as he followed his boyfriend out of their bedroom and into the bathroom. Jon turned and stuck out his tongue, causing Martin to snort. “You know, if you wanted me to dye your hair sooner you could have just asked.”

Jon laughed as he sat on the edge of the tub and watched Martin fumble through the clutter they had stored under the sink, looking for the bottle of pale pink hair dye. “I suppose I didn’t think about it until now,” he mused as Martin finally managed to wrestle the bottle out from the back of the vanity. “Until I saw your hair.” His voice was soft, that familiar soothing baritone. “It suits you.”

Martin’s mouth curled up in a half-smile. “Thanks.”

Jon looked around the bathroom as Martin pulled gloves onto his hands. “This takes me back,” he murmured, almost as if to himself. Meeting Martin’s inquisitive gaze, he continued. “Georgie used to love dyeing my hair in university. Eventually the bleach damaged it to the point where it became unsalvageable, so I ended up having to cut it off.” He chuckled. “That was an interesting one to explain to my grandmother.”

Martin laughed as he tried to imagine Jon from all those years ago – a younger Jon, unburdened by years of grooming and terrors and fear, of pain and distrust and manipulation. A Jon without grey streaks in his hair or circular scars marring his skin or scar tissue enveloping his right hand. A Jon whose biggest worry was an upcoming exam.

This Jon,  _ his _ Jon, was none of those things. Martin watched him as he adjusted himself into a comfortable sitting position – the current Jon was scarred, from the line across his neck to the circular scars dotting his skin, the stark pink of scar tissue on his hand against his brown skin to the knife scar on his other hand from being stabbed. This Jon had grey streaks in his hair and an air of exhaustion about him that made him seem so much older than he really was. He had tired eyes and a limp and regular nightmares that often had him waking up shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. This Jon was sitting in a bathroom with him, oversized shirt hanging off of his bony frame, waiting for Martin.

Martin felt his heart twist as Jon turned and gave him a small smile, turning so his feet were in the tub and his back was to Martin. This gave Martin pause, the bottle resting in his gloved hand. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am,” Jon replied. “It’s just dye, and if it doesn’t suit me it will wash out eventually.” He sounded so nonchalant, so relaxed, and Martin’s throat closed up. Noting the silence, Jon turned to look at him, his brow furrowed in concern. “Martin, are you alright?”

Martin tried to nod, but the knot in his throat had grown and he felt tears building behind his eyes. Jon’s eyes widened in alarm as he stood, taking Martin’s hands in his. “I’m fine,” he croaked, trying to blink the tears away.

Jon led him to the tub where he’d been sitting, wordlessly guiding him to sit down until he felt the cold ceramic beneath him. Tears silently escaped and fled down his cheeks, dripping onto his trousers, and suddenly his face was buried in Jon’s neck as Jon wrapped him in his arms, his voice murmuring “it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here,” into his ear, his hands rubbing calming circles on Martin’s back as Martin sobbed.

His chest was tight as he cried, all his sorrows seeming to want to burst out of him and having nowhere to go, trapped in a place in Martin’s mind that he’d never wanted to breach but that wanted to escape. The weight of where he was had hit him so suddenly, and just when he thought he was fine, was beginning to recover from all he’d been through, the memories reared their ugly heads.

Eventually he was able to breathe again, the tears slowed to a stop, and he loosened his grip on Jon. He didn’t move his head from where it rested on Jon’s shoulder – he didn’t want Jon to see him like this, his face no doubt pink and swollen from crying, tear tracks prominent on his freckled cheeks.

Jon’s hands moved to Martin’s cheeks, pushing gently to urge him to lift his head. Martin had half a heart to resist, and he knew if he did, Jon wouldn’t push; but he allowed Jon to hold him, raising his head and meeting his boyfriend’s eyes.

Jon’s eyes were gentle, warm, a soft brown where they had once glowed green. He had no pity in his gaze, and Martin was grateful – Jon understood, even if he didn’t know how to help. “Are you…” Jon paused, rubbing his thumb across Martin’s cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?” Of course he knew the answer to  _ Are you okay? _ Of course he knew the answer would be  _ No, no not really _ .

“I– I guess it all just hit me. Again,” he added ruefully. “I was thinking about you,” he confessed. “And you in university, before the Institute, and the fears, the end of the world, all of it. Before me,” he whispered. Jon leaned forward, placing his hands on the back of Martin’s neck and touching their foreheads together. “I guess I keep thinking about the  _ before _ , who we both were before all of this. Hell, even in the early days of working in the Archive, when I would make you tea and you’d call me useless.” Jon snorted at this, his face close enough that Martin felt the rush of air on his lips. “Sometimes I can hardly remember it, those days where it almost felt like a normal job; the little things blur together, and I can remember the bigger picture but not the details.

“Then there’s times where I  _ can’t _ forget all the things I did – God, I  _ hurt _ you, Jon. When I was working for Peter Lukas, I– I was thinking about it, recently. You’d just woken up from a six month long coma, Tim was dead, Daisy was gone, Melanie was– Melanie was hurting, and she was cruel and just as broken as you were. And I– I had sacrificed myself because I thought I had nothing left for me, between losing you and Tim at the same time, I wondered what the point even was. But then you came back, and you were all alone, and you were blaming yourself for everything and I couldn’t even  _ tell _ you, couldn’t talk to you or comfort you, and it hurt. It hurt so much, and even now I sometimes forget that that isn’t the case anymore.

“Even now, you’re here with me, and we’re both okay and I can’t stop thinking about what if it’s not as okay as we think it is? Where will the next horror come from? Will I be able to protect you? Or will I make the wrong call, think I’m doing the right thing but hurt you in the process?”

“Martin,” Jon said softly. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was ever your fault. You were hurting; I can’t even imagine what you went through under Peter Lukas’ control – you had no clue that I would wake up.” He pulled away, looking directly into Martin’s eyes, the intensity startling him. “I understand. God knows I’ve had my share of… consequences of what happened to me – to us. But it. Was. Not. Your. Fault.”

Martin bit his lip. “I know that. I can know that and still… feel like it is.”

Jon nodded, a look of sorrow overtaking his features. “I know. You think I don’t blame myself for dragging you into everything?”

Martin choked out a laugh. “Jon, I don’t want to disturb your self-blame fantasies but I would have followed you through hell and back even if you tried everything you possibly could to stop me. You must know that.”

Jon chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I do. Doesn’t mean I can’t feel guilty.”

Martin nodded. A beat of silence passed as they simply sat on that cold tub, holding each others hands like they were each other's only tethers to this world where the other option was a realm of nightmares neither of them ever wanted to return to. “I love you.”

Jon smiled. “I love you too.” They sat there for a while, not talking, simply  _ being _ together as Martin’s head cleared. He knew Jon was right – the Lonely hadn’t been his fault. But trauma didn’t care about blame; it worked in awful and twisted and funny ways, warping reality to show what it saw fit to cause the most pain. It was up to him to unravel it and see the past for what it truly was – an inexorable part of him, but not something that defined him.

After a while, Jon squeezed Martin’s hands. “Well, shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the bottle of dye that had rolled on the floor and was resting by their feet. Martin was even still wearing the gloves. “Unless you’re tired – we don’t need to–”

Martin shook his head. “Let’s do it.”

Jon nodded, leaning in to give Martin a quick kiss before releasing him, resuming his position of sitting with his feet in the tub and his back to Martin.

As Martin began to apply the dye to the grey streaks running down Jon’s hair, Jon began to hum softly, and the sound filled Martin’s chest with happiness. He ran his fingers through Jon’s hair to the tune of the lullaby, the soft strands parting at Martin’s touch, the greys clumped together with pale pink goop. He let himself be lulled by the soothing motions and the sound of his love’s voice, allowed his mind to be cleared – he didn’t need to think right now, didn’t need to unpack his past and his trauma at this exact moment. For now, he could enjoy the soothing motions of running his fingers through Jon’s hair, turning his grey hairs pink.

Maybe he could accept that Jon was doing this for him. Perhaps he didn’t need to feel guilty whenever Jon did something for him – his entire life, he’d been the one giving. To his mother, to Jon, to his friends and even to people who didn’t seem to like him all that much. It was how he’d learned to express his caring, his personality, his love. Maybe now, as a man in his thirties, he could finally begin to learn to accept the same from those who loved  _ him _ .

Jon loved him. He believed that. He knew that. Nothing to feel guilty about there, and Jon was doing this so he’d feel more comfortable doing his job when it had been  _ his _ impulsive decision to dye his hair in the first place.

Once the dye was in, Martin stood, his knees aching from crouching on the cold, hard floor. “Alright, you’re good. It just needs to sit for half an hour, then you can wash it out.”

Jon nodded, turning and stepping out of the tub. “It’s certainly quite the process,” he mused. He held his hand out, brushing Martin’s hair behind his ear with a soft smile on his face. “Worth the results, I think.”

Martin snorted a laugh. “You know, for all your virtues, flirting isn’t one of them.”

Jon shrugged ruefully. “It was never my strong suit, no.” He met Martin’s eyes. “For what it’s worth, meeting you was the best thing about the Institute.”

Martin said nothing, fearing that if he did he’d burst into tears again. He didn’t need to – Jon knew. He’d always known how Martin felt about him, how much he loved him. So instead of answering, he lowered his lips to Jon’s. The kiss was soft, and it was sweet, and Jon’s fingers were running through his hair as Martin wrapped his arms around Jon’s thin frame, holding him close. They kissed almost lazily, simply content with  _ being _ together, holding each other, like a salve to a stinging wound – nothing urgent, nothing rushed.

It hadn’t always been like this – they hadn’t always felt as though they didn’t have to worry about running out of time.

Once half an hour had passed, Jon washed his hair and let it dry, waiting to behold what it looked like in all its glory. They hadn’t realized how late it was – it was well past two in the morning – but neither of them were tired, simply sitting in bed and talking until Jon’s hair was dry.

The pink stood out sharply against Jon’s black hair, and Martin’s heart swelled at how  _ young _ it made Jon look. It looked like strips of cotton candy had been woven into his hair, and accompanied with the smile Jon was giving him was enough to make a laugh bubble up in Martin’s throat. And when Jon smacked him indignantly and asked why he was laughing, Martin could only respond with “You’re beautiful.”

The coming years would be full of ups and downs, of more heavy mornings weighed down by a fog only he could see, of comforting the man he loved after a particularly vivid nightmare, of questioning whether he was worth this kind of love at all. But for tonight, he could allow himself to feel that love, to savour it and to let it cloak him like a blanket.

For tonight, his life was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Rin and Shay for inspiring me to write another fluffy jonmartin fic a day later :) This ended up a lot angstier than expected, but don't worry it ends happy  
> Rin pls don't send me to goblin writer jail over this  
> (btw if anyone's wondering what his job is he's a twitch streamer cause i saw a tumblr post about twitch streamer eboy martin once and it never left my brain)


End file.
